So: you’re pacing this Georgian mansion recorder at hand, enjoying every creaky step and every rusty hinge. You’re pretty sure you are alone, until one of the large heavy doors coughs up someone else. The someone else smiles an unexpected hello from under their eyes, your reply gets half-caught in your throat. It’s a moment, promptly forgotten. Weeks later when logging those recordings at home, the whispers turn out to be the best part.
This is a brief experiment in sound fiction: a sketch of two paths leading to an encounter infinitesimal in duration, all the energy of the world fenced into one word said as strangers.